I don’t take her question lightly. I’ve learned this much: just because He doesn’t tell you why, doesn’t mean there isn’t a clearly defined why. My smile fades in appreciation of the truth behind what I'm about to say. “I think God is always trying to tell us something. It's just a matter of if we're listening or in a place to be able to hear whatever it is He has to say.”
She offers me a nod as her smile softens. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask, admittedly confused.
“For listening. For reminding me to do the same.”
Silence settles between us as I’m not sure what to say next. I do, however, want to continue our conversation, so I spit out the next thing that comes to mind. “Are you content these days?”
A part of me instantly regrets asking the question. Selfishly, I hope her answer is no. The way things are between us is temporary. I don’t want her to get so comfortable while we’re apart that she doesn’t want to get back together in the future. At the same time, I also want her to say yes. I want her life to be full and every second counts. Plus, over the last several months, I’ve learned to embrace moments of contentment. It’s during those times that I’ve felt the most at peace. It’s during those times that I remember all that I have to be thankful for. It’s during those times that I realize that while I might be content, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want more—which is perfectly okay. Being able to admit that makes me feel like I’ve come a long way from where I started.
“Right here, right now, in this moment,” she begins to say, effectively stopping my train of thought, “yes. But it comes and goes. I don't think it's possible to be content all the time. Sometimes you have to dig for it, you know?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, appreciating her answer. “I do.” When she smiles at me, I know that as we stare at each other, we share the same space. Not physically, but emotionally. No matter what has changed between us, and regardless of what new things we don’t know about one another, we still understand each other. Our intimacy might be on hiatus, but every once in a while—during golden moments like this—the connection we share is charged with a jolt, reminding us that our love is still…ours. Ours to have and to hold.
“Hey, Beckham, Addie,” greets Pastor Doug, pulling our focus off of each other. “I’m sorry to interrupt but, Beck, I was wondering if I might have a quick word?”
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter curiously as I stand. I cast one backward look at Addie, who gives me an encouraging smile, and then step to the side with Doug. “What’s up?”
“I’ve actually been thinking a lot about you, recently. It’s been a while since we last sat down to chat.”
“I know,” I say, regretfully. “I keep meaning to reach out, but it’s just been a crazy few months.”
“I understand. I’d love to hear about it.”
“Yeah, sure,” I repeat, genuinely appreciative of his interest.
“How about right now? Can I buy you lunch? I know you all usually head out together after service, so I understand if you already have plans, but I have the afternoon free. It’s rare, for me,” he says with a kind smile. “But my wife and kids are out of town this weekend. Any excuse to not cook is a good one, if you ask me.”
I chuckle before I offer him a shrug. “Okay,” I agree. The truth is, I really do want to sit down and catch up with him; but my schedule really has gotten in the way, and right now I have no plans.
“Great,” he says, clasping his hands together. “You pick the place.”
An hour later, Doug and I are laughing over our bowls of noodles. I chose Pennie’s Pasta as a lunch spot, because they have the best macaroni and cheese I’ve ever had—aside from my mom’s, of course. We end up ordering the same thing. Conversation with him is easy and we spend the first half of our meal talking about yesterday’s game, school, and family. He’s so great at telling stories and his kids, all under the age of ten, give him the best material. When the conversation circles around to this morning’s message, he shifts our focus back onto me.
“When I came and asked you to lunch, you looked like you were having a content moment. Have things between you and Addie changed?” I can tell by the inflection of his voice that he means to inquire if we’ve gotten back together yet. I shake my head before I clarify my answer.
“No. Well—yes, but no. We aren’t together, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is that something you still want?”
“Yeah.” The answer is simple. I haven’t changed my mind. Not even for a second. As Doug nods in acknowledgment, I realize that the meaning behind my answer weighs so much more than one word could ever convey. “I think that stepping back has actually made me want it more. I mean, I never questioned it before, but our break seems to be reaffirming my choice in her.”
“How do you mean?”
“I realize that we’re friends. I mean, I know that might sound like a joke, because we’ve been together for so long, but it’s different now.” I set my fork down, finding that I need all my faculties to be able to adequately explain myself. “We weren’t just friends for very long. Only a couple months, actually. I never really realized how much everything else plays into your relationship once you let it in. Now that we’ve taken it out, I see just how much her friendship means to me. It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed between us. I don’t know,” I shrug. “It’s just nice to be reminded that the woman I love is also just a great friend. We don’t need all the extra to get along. That’s all bonus.”
“I like that you’ve taken the time and made the effort to look at the situation from a different perspective. You don’t seem as anxious as when we last met. Dare I say that you’ve come to a place of acceptance?”
Acceptance. I let the word bounce around my head for a second. It seems like there are so many facets of this season that I’m in that I could pin that word to. Like everything else, the answer to his question is not as simple as yes or no. I smirk at the thought. “I’ve accepted the fact that it’s complicated and there’s no way around that. I still don’t know why, which makes it hard to explain to other people. I stopped doing that months ago. Even with my family. But especially with myself.”
“You’re not chasing after why?” he asks, propping his elbows on the table as he tents his fingers together.
“Nope. I’m no longer interested in why. I figure, it’ll work itself out.”
“And what, may I ask, brought you to that conclusion?”
“My need to know all the answers, so that I could plot out a course and follow the appropriate steps to get to that illusive place where I’m ready to ask Addie to marry me, it was making me crazy. I realized that I can’t control everything. Life is full of too many details, too many variables, too many alternate routes—I just have to trust my gut, trust my heart, and—” I chuckle and shake my head, aware that once I finish my statement, I’m going to get slapped with a big, fat I told you so. “And trust God.”
“You don’t say…” Doug replies with a smirk.
“It’s not easy.”
“No. It most certainly is not. It’s usually during the times when things are hard or not going the way we anticipated that it’s the most difficult.”
“I’m learning that. I’m trying not to dwell on it. It helps that I’m so busy.”
“Yeah, tell me about what else has been going on. How are you coming along with your med school applications?”
For the rest of our meal, we talk about all the work I’ve put in to prepare myself for medical school over the last few months. I know that this is a conversation I’ve been having a lot lately, but it never gets old. I can hardly wait for the next step; even though it’s only been a couple days, I’m anxious to see what schools are interested in me. Beyond that, I’m just excited that my undergrad studies are almost finished. With every passing day, I’m one step closer to being a doctor—something I’ve wanted forever.
“Sometimes I think maybe my reason why lies in the last few mont
hs themselves. I’ve had so much going on that it’s been nice not having to worry about Addie. I’ve gotten the chance to focus on me. Not to say that I don’t have Addie in mind, because I do, but without the pressure of marriage, none of my decisions are weighed down with the obligation to view them through the lens of future husband. Even if that is what I am, I can’t live every day for someone else. At least, that’s what feels true.” I surprise myself with my last statement, having never actually articulated those feelings before. But just as I said, it feels true.
“Hi, my name is Doug,” he says, extending his hand across the table. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” I laugh as I bat away his hand and he smiles before he continues to speak. “Keep that heart of yours open. God’s most certainly molding you.”
“Still don’t feel ready to get married, though,” the words are out before I can stop them. Recently, I’ve tried not to let that truth negate all the progress I have made. I struggle with the fear of losing Addie as much as I do with never reaching that place where I know I can do it—be her husband. It’s a frustrating tug of war that never ceases in my head but I avoid dealing with it as often as possible. It’s during moments like the one I had with Addie this morning that I’m the most at peace; being near her, having the affirmation that our history stands for so much, it reminds me that I’m not in this alone. During those times that I miss her the most, or when I see her with Roman, that’s when my anxiety is at its highest. Just thinking of him—
“Here’s what I think,” Doug begins to say, saving me from my thoughts. “One day, you’re going to look at her and it’ll hit you. You’ll just know that you can no longer go on like this. Then nothing, not even you, will be able to stand in your way. Or maybe the opposite will happen. Only God knows, at this point. The decision is up to you, and when you’re ready to make it, you will.”
I nod, unable to find any words to follow his. I just hope with all my heart that he’s right.
Roman: You owe me a hang out.
Me: Haha, I do?
Roman: Yeah. You skipped yoga to watch football the other day. You broke your promise. ;)
Me: You’re right! :( Okay. When are you free?
Roman: I’m off at 8 Wed. and Thurs.
Me: Wednesday works for me.
Roman: What should we do? Little Bird?
Me: Sure.
Me: Wait! No! I have a better idea!!
Roman: Shoot.
Me: I want to hear you play…
Roman: Really?
Me: I think it’s only fair that I see if you’re any good before I agree to take the stage with you ;)
Roman: You’re right. That is fair. My place?
Me: Okay. Just send me your address.
Roman lives in a house about fifteen minutes away from me, north of town and a good distance away from campus. From the looks of it, his neighborhood seems quiet and quaint. I try and associate my surroundings with him, but it doesn’t seem to match. I don't know why, but it seems more like a place to settle down and he doesn’t strike me as quiet ready to settle down.
I park on the street, since there are two cars parked in the driveway, and make my way to the front porch. Before I ring the doorbell, my stomach tingles as I’m struck with a bout of nerves. I can’t really decide why I’m nervous—and then, he answers the door. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of gym shorts and a tank top. His hair is wet, which makes me assume that he hopped in the shower after he got home from work, and his feet are bare—a sight I’m quite used to. He greets me first with a warm smile and the tingles in my stomach intensify.
Did I ring the bell?
“Hey. I was sitting right here,” he begins to explain, pointing to his right, “and I heard you get out of your car.”
“Oh,” I manage.
All at once, it hits me—I’m about to be alone with Roman. Like really alone. I don’t know why I didn’t realize this until just now, and I’m not sure why it matters, but it does. We’ve only ever hung out in public places. Even if it’s just the two of us, we’ve always been in a crowd. It hasn’t been intentional, I don’t think; I mean, we haven’t gone out of our way to avoid being together privately. But in the four months that I’ve known him, I’ve never seen where he lives. He’s never seen where I live, either. That’s all about to change.
“Did you want to come in?” he asks with a lopsided grin. “Or did you want to hang out on the porch? It’s nice out. We can, if you want.”
I stupidly look around his front porch—which isn’t so much a porch as a wide set of cement stairs—and then decide I’m being ridiculous. “No,” I say with a smile. “Inside is good.”
“Okay,” he chuckles, sweeping his arm out in a gesture of invitation.
Right away, my eyes are all over the place. It’s a ranch style home and from where I’m standing, I can see the living room, to my left, and the dining area, which is across the room in front of me. There’s a black leather love seat and couch in front of the big television mounted on the wall. The room is clean, but kind of cluttered. There’s a large movie collection stacked up in piles against the wall on either side of the entertainment center that houses a couple game consoles and a bunch of video games. The coffee table is littered with textbooks, notebooks, and coffee mugs. Looking over in the dining room, I see there’s a round table that looks to be decorated just about the same. The five chairs that surround the mess are mismatched.
“Want a tour? It’s not much, but if you want to look around…”
“Yeah, sure,” I say with a nod, curious to see how he lives.
“Okay. Living room, dining room,” he says, pointing as he makes his way in that direction. I follow and just to the left of the dining room, behind the wall where the TV is mounted, is the kitchen. I smile at the row of cereal boxes that are on top of the fridge. “Ashton is a cereal junkie,” Roman explains. “He’s also the reason why there’s school work all over the place. He’s studying to get his second master’s.”
“Second?” I ask, in awe of this roommate I’ve never met.
“Yeah. He got his first in sports and exercise science; now he’s working on food science and human nutrition.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles its way out of me. “Human nutrition? And he’s a cereal junkie?”
Roman grins at me as he shrugs. “Nobody is perfect. Come on,” he says, leading me past the dining room and down the hallway. “Bathroom, Ashton’s room, Ryan’s room, and mine.”
I barely peek into his housemate’s rooms, not wishing to invade anyone’s privacy, but I do walk around Roman to take a good look at his most personal space. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
The room is simple. It’s not big, but it’s clean, which makes it feel big. And when I say clean, I mean spotless. His bed—which is perfectly made—is tucked into the far corner of the room and his desk—which is almost empty, aside from a lamp, his laptop, and a notebook—is situated just beside the door. Instead of a dresser, he has a shelving unit that occupies the wall space beside his bed. It’s a large wooden square filled with little squares filled with clothes neatly folded on the top three rows, and books and notebooks on the bottom row. His closet is shut, but I can imagine that his shoes are probably neatly organized and it wouldn’t surprise me if his clothes were color coordinated.
I turn to look at him and arch my eyebrow teasingly before I ask, “OCD?”
“Sometimes,” he replies with a chuckle.
“Apparently.” I turn to take one more look at the room and that’s when I spot his guitar case propped up against the end of his bed. “And there she is. I think it’s time you play me something.” He pulls the chair from underneath his desk and places it beside the bed, inviting me to sit. I set my purse down and bring my legs up, crossing them beneath me, as he pulls out his guitar. “By the way, where are Ashton and Ryan? Will I get to meet them?”
“Maybe, if you’re around when they get back. Ryan’s at wor
k. Ashton has his church small group on Wednesdays.”
I nod, pleased to have acquired this information. It’s like him knowing where his roommates are is just another part of being in his own space. As he sits on the edge of the bed and tunes his guitar, I watch him and smile. This is a side of him that I’ve never met before, and I’m anxious to know him.
“What?” he asks when he catches me staring.
“Nothing,” I insist. “I just can’t believe I’m about to hear you play. According to Daphne, I’m in for a treat.”
“Well, I already warned you that I’m not that great of a singer.”
“I won’t judge,” I assure him, lifting my hands to signal I will hold nothing against him.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and then begins to play. As his fingers move effortlessly across the strings of his instrument, I’m instantly lost in his melody. I want to find a word to describe the tone that he’s conveying, but I’m at a loss. It’s melancholy, but it’s also hopeful. It’s gloomy, but also refreshing. Whatever it is, I love it.
And then he starts singing.
My breath catches in my throat. He’s better than he proclaims to be, which doesn’t surprise me, but it’s not the sound of his voice that leaves me stunned. It’s the way being with him in this moment makes my heart race. I know that he’s sharing something with me, something that’s close to his heart, something he’s passionate about. The words he sings are just as beautiful as the music he’s created and as I listen, I’m moved. It’s as if something inside of me is being shifted. He doesn’t look at me as he plays; instead, he watches his own fingers and then he closes his eyes. When he’s finished, his gaze finds mine, and I swear his brown irises have never looked warmer or more inviting or honest.
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 42
